


To Not be Troubled by the Sea

by AngryPirateHusbands



Series: To Not be Troubled by the Sea [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Series, Sex, handjobs go good with breakfast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: "He must take up an oar and walk inland, and keep walking until someone mistakes that oar for a shovel. For that would be a place where no man has ever been troubled by the sea, and that's where he'd find peace. You told me this story of Odysseus so many times.. And where do I find you? In a cottage right by the fucking ocean."





	1. Walk Inland

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between the end of S4 and TI.
> 
> A strong reference is made to my other fic, Meditations.

The sun hung high in the sky, bathing the small cottage and the surrounding land in a sweltering heat as it often did at this hour of the day. While a breeze often came from the nearby coast, carrying the familiar scent of saltwater and the sense of possibility it once entailed, today it provided little reprieve. James focused instead on the calling of birds as they soared overhead and the gentle hum of the cicada as he worked. The land he had taken to farming was by no means impressive; it was a few acres at most. Yet after several years of hard work, not to mention an excruciating period of trial and error, he now grew enough fruits and vegetables to support a small family. He had potatoes, some corn and wheat, a patch of lettuce, and an apple tree,among others. There was also a smaller area specifically for herbs as well as a chicken coop. He was now completely self reliant, just as his goal had been all along. To be able to get by from the merits of his own labor and to be able to trade for what necessities he couldn't scavenge for himself. More often than naught he traded the usual staples for clothing, books, and other goods he needed or desired. If that wouldn't suffice he would offer up his skills as a carpenter. Though he hadn't had a hand in it since he was a young lad, it seemed to be a set of skills difficult for one to forget.

It was hard work, but it was honest work. It kept him well fed and comfortable, but most importantly it kept him busy. After nearly a decade of piracy and bloody battles at sea, it was the simple peace he had long come to crave. One where he could set up a life that didn't constantly revolve around bloodshed, war, and the chase of their next prize. He had decided on this small colony in perhaps the first few steps inland. It was overseen by a fairly competent governor, but it's true merits came in the form of its small amount of citizens and remote location. It was certainly not a poor town, but was just prosperous enough to support itself without drawing the threat of piracy. Here most wouldn't even know the name "Captain Flint", let alone recognize his face. While that was no longer a name he went by, it still provided a great comfort to know that here he would not have to peer over his shoulder for men hunting pirates to hang in the square. Here he would be just another weary face. Simple, plain, and easily forgotten.

Four years had passed since he had first arrived here. Four years since he and his men had reclaimed Nassau from her self-appointed governor, since they became free from England's tyranny and he had turned his back on his old life. On his men, on the _Walrus_ , and on John Silver. And where was he now? Living a mundane yet pleasant life in a small town under English rule.

James had never much appreciated irony.

The man now stood from where he had been kneeling down in the garden and did his best to brush the earth from his hands. They were still hardened from years of work. Scarred, calloused, and worn. Vaguely he thought back to how soft Silver's hands had been the first time he felt that touch. Back then when they first met they were two entirely different people. He recounted the smooth palms, soft and free from scars as the man had spent most of his life avoiding labor and serious scuffles with his silver tongue and quick feet. Yet after Charlestown that had changed drastically. By the time Nassau was reclaimed the man was perhaps just as hardened as he. Just as scarred, just as broken, just as bloody. Even though he had descended into the same darkness his other partners had, Silver seemed only to thrive from its twisted depths. His intelligence and cleverness seemed to strengthen, as did his insight and newfound loyalty. He had become a strong presence not just to the men but to himself. And yet, once again Flint had found himself losing the love of his life. Only this time it was not due to death's inevitable embrace, but by choice.

An incredibly moronic choice, but a choice nonetheless.

How he had wanted to ask Silver to come with him. To throw his pride to the wind, and to plead and beg and do whatever else he needed to make it so. Yet he couldn't. He wouldn't allow himself to be selfish. Not with Silver, not anymore. As much as he craved the thought of them taking to the skivvy together to leave the life of bloodshed behind them, he couldn't. Silver had built himself a life from these men. One where he was not only needed, but both feared and adored. The man finally had something to be proud of, something that gave him cause and purpose, something that was greater than himself. He would be damned if he were to steal that away from him. He remembered all too well how it had been when he had first risen to his captaincy in Nassau. It was through that where he had truly found himself, and now it was time for Silver to undertake that journey.

Of course, James could never permit himself to turn his back on the man completely. After fervently explaining to Silver his plan and the reasoning behind it, and after prying the pistol from his hands after hours of heated arguing, he granted the man a shred of honesty. He felt he deserved no less. He told him that he still loved him, that he likely always would, but this was just something he had to do. While the words seemed to fall flat the moment they left his tongue he felt the need to voice them nonetheless. Once Silver had calmed enough to actually listen, James went on to explain that whenever he too wished to walk from the sea he would be able to find him again. In retrospect, he was a fool to even consider that Silver would follow in his footsteps. Not after this level of a betrayal; not after how he so clearly broke the man he had come to see as his equal. When the man first arrived to this place he spent many a day staring out at the sea. He would look out to the water, scanning for ships along the edge of the horizon just in the arrogant hope that he couldn't be apart from him. After several weeks his hopes had dwindled to the stark reality of the situation. Even if Silver dis one day decide to follow in his footsteps, it would not be now. Silver was too hurt, too proud, and far too stubborn. He knew his duties to the men. And so James eventually realized that even if that day did come, he would have to wait for it.

Yet as the months began to trickle by, and those months turned into years, eventually Flint stopped gazing out towards the sea altogether.

James pushed the thoughts from his mind as he gathered up the basket of squash he had collected. He wouldn't allow his thoughts to wander off to Silver. It had taken him far too long to wrestle himself from the tight grip the man held on him, even in his absence. He had developed a routine, built a life, and he would not squander it on regrets of the past. On things that could no longer be changed. While it had taken him far too long, he had finally done as Miranda had always wished. He had forgiven himself and let go. Of his past atrocities, of his failures, of letting go of John Silver. James collected himself as best he could before heading down the hill to the market to trade, just as he has done once a week for the past few years.

By the time James made his way back up the hill towards his home, his basket had been filled with an assortment of different items. A fresh loaf of bread and cheese and a new white cotton shirt. The sweltering sun had fallen behind a line of dark clouds and the wind began to bend the trees with a growing force. A storm was coming. It had been more than a week without rain and so he welcomed the weather. He just hoped the garden wouldn't flood again and that the wind would be more merciful. He wasn't too keen on spending another full day picking up felled, bruised fruit and clearing debris and broken branches.

When he came around the bend in the small path his mind stalled, his breath stilling in his chest. The front door to his home stood slightly ajar, the wood around the lock having been smashed through. Immediately James cursed himself for not carrying a blade or pistol with him. While his initial reasoning was quite pragmatic, an armed farmer would only draw attention and suspicion after all, it certainly would have been useful now. He set down the basket before slowly making his way towards the door. Multiple weapons were hidden throughout the house, but now he realized he should probably have some stashed outside as well. There was no horse stabled and nothing could be seen through the few windows he had. If it was someone intending to do him harm or launch an ambush, surely they would have been intelligent enough to slip in through a window around back. A thief, then? The thought itself was laughable. The outward appearance of both himself and his home openly displayed his lack of wealth. And what coins he did have were well-hidden. Yet as he drew closer to the porch he had his answer.

Footprints. Or rather, one boot print with a deeper circular mark to its left. Distinctive of a fake leg or crutch.

James swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. Suddenly his mouth felt dry and a tongue slid out to wet his lips. _Could it be..? No. No, surely not._ It's been far too long. And what's more, the impression left by Silver's iron boot was different. Smaller and flat on the back end. But what if...? Already his mind was drowning beneath a sea of turbulent thoughts, and all he wanted to do was turn around and go back into town. Maybe for a few hours, maybe a day, maybe he would find passage on a ship and leave altogether. But the desire to know for sure quickly steeled its hold on him. Before he could change his mind he collected his basket and pushed the door open. Green eyes scanned the room only briefly before that voice made him still in his tracks. Familiar, warm, comforting.

 _"He must take up an oar and walk inland, and keep walking until someone mistakes that oar for a shovel. For that would be a place where no man has ever been troubled by the sea, and that's where he'd find peace."_ A chuckle. "You told me this story of Odysseus so many times.. And where do I find you? In a cottage right by the fucking sea."

James' eyes closed, suddenly feeling unbearably tired, before releasing a firm breath. "You broke through my door." Those were not the words he wished to speak, not even close, but it was all he could manage at the moment.

Another soft laugh lilted through the room. "Come now. I'm sure a busted lock is no trouble for a carpenter such as yourself. What name is it you're going by now? _James Barlow_?"

Flint's thumb rotated the ring on his forefinger slowly before he finally stole the courage to turn around and face the intruder. Silver stood in the far corner of the room beside the door, a crutch leaning against the wall beside him. The iron leg was just as unmistakable as that mop of dark curls. Lips pressed into a firm line as he took in the sight before him. The man looked completely different yet exactly the same. The dark ringlets had grown longer but were still partially pulled back in a queue. His beard and mustache had too grown wild, and those blue eyes were just as piercing and captivating as they had always been. Intelligent, light, and as beautiful as the ocean depths. Still, the man looked unusually tired. Not that he could blame him, with the mess he had been left to clean up. Not to mention the toll captaincy often took, especially to a newcomer, resulted in a distinct lack of sleep.

Again James struggled to find the words, any words. After a moment Silver seemed to pick up on this and continued, thereby allowing him the slight reprieve necessary so he could move further into the house. "I always liked the name 'Barlow', though. And it seems rather fitting, all things considered."

James frowned. "I'd grown tired of thinking up new aliases to go by," he explained simply.

Silver offered a contented hum. "May I sit down?" he asked after a moment. "My leg has grown rather sore waiting around for you."

Already James could feel the beginnings of a migraine. The man doesn't bat an eye at breaking and entering, but he needs permission to take a seat at his table. As before his logic was infallible. "Of course," he muttered out. He listened to the familiar step-thunk-step as his old quartermaster made his way over to the table, leaving the crutch in its spot against the wall. In the meantime James moved into the kitchen to set the basket down on the counter. "Tea?" he asked, if only for something to fill the silence.

A chuckle filled the space, soon followed by a, "Please. Anything's better than rum at this point."

James was quiet as he set the kettle above the newly kindled fire and set to work about some food. While he hadn't asked for it, based on the man's state he was surely hungry. Especially if he had walked all the way here. The silence that had fallen on the house was suffocating as James prepared a small plate of sliced bread and cheese. He slid the plate in front of the man before returning a few minutes later with two cups of tea. He set one beside Silver's plate before sitting down with his own. The man was already digging into the meal as if he had recently spent another few weeks in the Doldrums.

Silver had just finished the last bite of cheese, licking a crumb of bread from his thumb, when Flint finally voiced the question that had been nagging at the edge of his mind. "What are you doing here?"

Blue eyes peered up at him. They were wide and unguarded, almost as if he had forgotten he was there. "It's been four years."

"I know."

"I figured that was long enough to warrant a reunion," Silver stated incredulously. He sat back in his chair as those blue eyes moved over him. Calm and calculating. Then, more softly, "I missed you." There was something in his tone with those last three words that wasn't there before. Regret, something he himself knew quite well, as well as a trace of something else. Guilt, shame?

"It's been four years," James repeated. This time he couldn't help the anger that hardened his words.

Silver huffed. "Well I do apologize, I've been rather busy. Some tyrannical fuck left me with quite the mess to clean up." Despite his words his tone was light and there was humor flashing in his eyes. "Was actually rather content when I heard the bastard died a little over two years ago."

James arched a brow. "Captain Flint's dead?" he asked. Once again Silver was causing him to exercise his poor judgement; this time in playing along with his charade.

The man hummed. "Drank himself to death in Havannah," he explained before taking an experimental sip of his tea. "So wrought he was with grief, he sought the answer to his sorrows at the bottom of the bottle. Or did he finally just grow tired of living and drown himself in the ocean..? Honestly, I can't remember what the rumor was. Not that I had a hand in it, of course."

Despite himself, James found a slight smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. "You killed Captain Flint?"

Silver offered a meager shrug, the side of his thumb tracing over the lip of the teacup. "I told you I would be your end," he reminded him. With a sigh he readjusted himself in the chair. "Didn't have much of a choice, really. Too many people were searching for you."

"Rogers?"

"Pirates, actually."

"Billy?"

"Mmh. Even though reclaiming Nassau worked to all of our benefit, he remained rather cross with you."

"And the chest?"

"Still where we buried it, as far as I'm aware."

James reached up to stroke the underside of his chin with his knuckles. This was a lot of information to process. The cache was still safe and 'Captain Flint' was dead. And with that news he was finally free to stop looking over his shoulder once and for all. But the true purpose of Silver's visit was still a mystery to him. Why now? There had to be a reason. The gentle timbre of Silver's voice coaxed him from his thoughts with as much ease as it had in the past.

"I still have it, you know."

Green eyes flicked upward and he arched a brow. "Beg pardon?"

Without saying more Silver leaned back to better reach into the folds of his coat. Moments later he withdrew a small, red leather-bound book and gently set it on the table. Marcus Aurelius' _Meditations_. The book he had long held dear since Thomas was torn from him, and then Miranda following in his footsteps. The book he had entrusted to Silver, not just as an expression of his feelings for him, but for safekeeping. Without delay his eyes were drawn to the small yet prominent hole that tore through the cover. It went in diagonally near the corner and had gone through most of the pages.

"The fuck did you do to it?" James demanded. Quickly he plucked it up from the tabletop to more closely inspect it. Relief washed through him as he lifted the cover to see that the damage had just nearly avoided Thomas' elegant handwriting. It had also managed to miss his own inscription to Silver on the back cover. Other than that, the volume seemed to be in the perfect condition he had left it in. Still, his gaze lifted upwards in order to seek an explanation.

Silver raised his hands slightly to feign surrender. "Truly, it wasn't my fault. It was in my breast pocket when someone happened to take a shot at me."

The man's lips pursed. Sure enough, the hole was small enough to have been from a bullet. He tried to suffocate the thought that Silver had kept this book on his person, to pretend it wasn't significant in the least. So instead he scoffed and set it back down. "Christ. If you can't even take care of a book, I shudder to think what's become of the _Walrus_."

When the pirate didn't answer James glanced up to see an expression he had come to know quite well. Silver was looking off to the side, mouth slightly open as he found himself in that rare moment where he was lost for words. In the past this expression was always swiftly accompanied by him sharing some unfortunate news.

" _What did you do to my ship?_ " James's voice had all but risen to a shout. Silver's mouth closed, and when it inevitably opened again he cut him off before he could get a word out. "Never mind. I don't want to know." James could feel the stabbing pain in his forehead and he reached up to massage his temples.

"It's still afloat," Silver reassured him. Or at least tried to, as his words provided very little comfort.

James could only manage a snort of derision. After moment he sighed and looked out the back window. The sky was continuing to darken but it appeared as though it might be a few hours before it began to rain. "There's a tub out on the back porch. Draw up some water and take a bath, before anything else. You fucking reek." Not just of sweat, but of gunpowder and blood. A scent he had never particularly cared for, but especially not now that the life of piracy was behind him.

Despite the harsh words Silver merely smirked. "Aye, Captain," he agreed.

James leaned against the table as he listened to the step-thunk-step of his retreat. Despite his better judgement he turned his head just slightly to catch sight of his retreating form. Something was different about the way he was walking. Despite the presence of his crutch, he appeared to be walking with more ease on the iron leg than ever before. The stride was longer, more confident, and steady. Perhaps the amputation was no longer paining him. The prosthetic he was now in possession of was new, of that there was no doubt, but there was something else... Something different that he just couldn't quite put his finger on. The thoughts were pushed from his mind with a sigh as he began to clear the table while Silver bumbled around out back. The man had polished off his tea with the same fervency as he had done his food, and while his own tea had long grown cold he drank it anyway. Orange with a hint of honey.

He was returning the newly washed dishes to their place when a thought occurred to him. Linens. Silver would need something to dry off on and some fresh clothes. He already had a door to fix, he didn't want puddles of water all over his floor too. James grabbed the white cotton shirt he had bought not even an hour ago before trudging into his room for a pair of trousers, some cloths, and soap. He also made sure to grab his crutch before heading out the door.

Silver had seemingly filled up the tub with little to no trouble and was now sinking beneath the water with a contented sigh. When he heard his approach he smirked up at him. "You're too kind, Captain, truly," he said upon seeing his offering.

James leaned the crutch against the tub before tossing the cloth at that smirking face. "Don't call me that."

"As you wish, _James_."

He was fairly certain that this migraine wasn't going anywhere any time soon. When the man leaned forward, though, his thoughts stalled. Scars marred the skin of his chest and arms. Many must have been new as James didn't recognize them. Didn't remember tracing over them with light touches as he slept. But it wasn't just scars from bullets and swords that caught his attention, but the tattoos that stretched over his muscles. All a rich black, though the designs of some were much clearer than others. One in particular that sparked his interest laid on his left bicep. It was a waxing moon. The crescent that was shrouded in shadow matched his own celestial design inked into his right arm. It was almost exactly the same size, too.

When James' noticed the man's gaze there was a coy playfulness in his eyes. "You did that on purpose," he accused.

"I did," Silver agreed easily. He leaned forward to take the small bare of soap he still held in his fist, fingers moving unnecessarily over the inside of his wrist as he did so. "Is it really so terrible that I wished to keep a part of you close?"

James didn't answer. He was too thrown by the warmth that familiar touch sent racing through him. From the top of his head to his feet before striking at his heart. He realized then just how much he had missed that touch. Missed _him_.

"Clean up." The words came out with a much harder edge than intended, and Silver didn't bother trying to mask the dejected look that quickly darkened his expression. Before he could say another word he retreated back inside. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears and he could still feel the heat that trailed up from where he had touched his wrist. So much time had passed and yet this man could still make his heart lurch into his throat. It was maddening. Yet he couldn't allow himself to do this. Whatever reason truly drove Silver here, he wasn't planning to stay. It wasn't possible. He wouldn't allow himself to get sucked back in only for the other man to walk out on _him_. No matter how much he wanted to. If only for a moment.

When Silver eventually returned to the kitchen he was dressed in the fresh clothes James had given him. He realized then that this was perhaps the first time he had ever seen him dressed in plain white. It softened the man's otherwise hard appearance. He would even dare to say it made him look angelic, almost like an innocent. The trousers were a bit big on him, and the pant leg that covered his amputated leg dragged across the floor. The iron boot, as well as his dirtied clothing, were tucked underneath his arm as he made his way back towards the table. Even on the crutches he now moved with a practiced grace. No longer were the prosthetic or wooden crutch treated as a clumsy addition, but rather a natural extension of his body. Damp hair cascaded down his shoulders in thick ringlets as he sat down with a noticeable "huff". He dropped the clothing to the floor before beginning to roll up the pant leg to slip the boot back in place.

When the stump was uncovered James realized just what it was that had struck him as different earlier. It wasn't just the new design of the iron boot, it wasn't just his practiced, more effortless gait. His injured leg was actually _shorter_. "What happened to your leg?"

Silver chuckled. "Well, we were at port in Charlestown--"

"You know what I mean," James interjected with a scowl.

Silver sighed heavily and feigned a shrug of indifference. "Howell ended up having to take more of it."

"How long?"

He thought for a few moments before answering. "About two months after we reclaimed the island." He didn't meet his gaze.

"After I turned my back on you," James corrected him. Even he could hear the guilt that thickened his tone. He was aware of how suddenly he had opened up to Silver about his plans. How quickly he had unloaded upon him the stresses and responsibility of captaincy. How could he have not truly considered how that would impact him? That some part of him would slip under the pressure. He had failed him yet again, and this time he wasn't even there to pick up the pieces. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the leg.

Silver glanced up in curiosity at the question. After a moment of apparent unease he gave a slight nod of his head. James moved toward him and sank down to his knees. He pushed up the fabric the rest of the way before lifting the stump and turning it slightly in his hands. It was unmistakable now. At least an inch of it was now gone. While the point of amputation still reached below his knee joint, there was hardly any of it left. The only positive was that now it had actually... healed. The suture was much more even as Howell had not been racing against time. The skin was lightly calloused from the boot, just as the sole of one's foot would be, but appeared completely healthy. No inflammation or swelling, only scarring. James hadn't realized how he was stroking the skin, moving up his thigh only to come back down towards his knee with gentle caresses, until he felt fingers tangle into his hair. The touch startled him and he peered up to see those crystal blue eyes gazing down at him.

"Why didn't you ask me to come with you?" Silver asked softly. The look on his face was pleading, his eyes moving over his face as he sought an answer. His mouth was down-turned in a slight frown.

James swallowed lightly. "I was afraid that if I convinced you you to follow, you would only come to resent me," he eventually confessed. This was the first time he had admitted this truth aloud. It sounded foreign even to his ears.

"More than I did after you left?" Silver questioned. Still those fingers threaded through his hair, idly twirling the copper locks that weren't pulled back in his usual queue. "More than I still do, even now?"

"I'm sorry," James murmured. Though his voice was barely above a whisper it as full of regret.

After a few moments those fingers tightened in his hair and his chin was tilted upwards. Silver's lips were soft as they melded against his own, just as they had always been. Soft and warm like rays of sunshine and stronger than the ocean's currents. James found himself sinking into it almost immediately. He had not the energy nor the desire to even attempt to resist that burning touch. His own hands reached upwards to tangle his fingers in those damp locks, pulling him ever closer. A tongue traced over his bottom lip and that mouth opened willingly, urging him to delve deeper. Their tongues intertwined, pressing against one another as they fought for dominance in between gentle nips of teeth.

Eventually when they broke away they were both a bit breathless. James gazed longingly up at his last quartermaster. He took in the cheeks that had flushed dark with heat, the blue eyes that had given way to a hungry, all-consuming black. He was just as beautiful as he had always been. The man's hands moved from his hair to instead cradle his cheek. When his thumb traced along his jawline those blue eyes closed and Silver almost nuzzled into the touch.

"I'm sorry," James repeated. This time Silver's gaze met his own, and without even needing to say a word he could tell that he had already been forgiven long ago. He leaned forward on his knees to place another kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"I know."

The two spent the rest of the day lost in conversation. They talked about everything. What had become of Nassau after Flint's departure, the disaster that was the first time Silver attempted to take a prize as captain. How Billy had become obsessed with recovering the stash of pearls. James told him about his life when he first came here. How he could never truly turn his back on the sea, and spent the last of his coin purchasing this small place from an old man. How he grew the farm up around him with his own two hands. They lost themselves in discussion of what the English crown had been up to as of late. James could only smirk as the fire that burned brightly within the man reminded him of himself. Soon the sun had sunk low beneath the horizon and they chose to split a bottle of rum. And soon their discussions melded into matters far less serious. The latest books they had read, jokes Silver had heard, and reminiscing over their various adventures together. By the time the bottle was empty the candles had burned low, sending wax spilling over onto the table.

When James stood to collect the empty bottle and glasses, Silver peered up at him almost anxiously. When it became apparent that he wouldn't speak first James took the initiative. "Are you staying the night?" the asked casually. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man thumbing nervously over the leather of _Meditations'_ cover.

"Will you have me?"

James nodded. "Always.."

That was all the answer Silver seemed to need. With a brief smile he grabbed his crutch and made his way down the hall with an ease he hadn't known before. James followed in his footsteps, his bare feet padding softly against the wood floor. The moment they were within the bedroom they came together once more. This time when they kissed they did so slowly and with purpose. James cradled the base of the man's neck, tilting his head upward slightly to better deepen their kiss. The man had grown in many ways, but he was still a few inches shorter than he. Fingers moved almost hurriedly as they shed each other of their clothes. After that it was as if nothing had changed. This was simple, _this_ came naturally. The way their hands slid over one another, exploring each others bodies with gentle touches in a way that conveyed the thoughts they couldn't speak. He traced over the scars that had come to mare Silver's flesh in recent years, leaning down to trail his lips over each one, his hands settling on those slender hips to hold him close. He quickly found himself overcome with that old, primal desire to explore, to taste, to touch.

When James eventually found himself on his knees Silver's fingers had threaded through his hair once more. How he had missed this. How he had missed _him_. The way those fingers clutched his hair, the way he gasped out above him as that length pillowed on his tongue. How he uttered his name with such reverence as he came down his throat and managed to alight his senses all at once. The rest of the night was a blissful blur. Before he knew it Silver was spread out beneath him, his chest warm against his own and those trailing fingers sending lines of fire coursing through him. They moved against each other just as they had so many years ago, their lips and hands instinctively knowing where to travel to elicit a soft moan, a gentle gasp. It was if he had never left. They kissed, stroked, groped, and fucked, the room filled with soft moans and panted breaths. They were finally alone with only each other and so they would not be silent. Truthfully, even if they were in the middle of the town square he doubted either of them could keep themselves at bay. There were too many emotions. Too much hurt and want, too much guilt and frustration from spending so many years apart.

When they had finally grown tired at last the room smelled of sex and sweat. Their skin gleamed in the low lighting from the candle on the nightstand. The flickering flame only just illuminated the way their bodies had been flushed with heat and satisfaction. James' hair had come loose from its queue and Silver's fingers combed through it. James gathered the man into his arms before brushing a dark ringlet behind his ear. Those blue eyes had already fallen closed. Even this, holding Silver's naked body against his own, felt natural. He would never tire of this feeling. He was worried he would never feel it again. And now that he had... He was weary to relinquish his hold on it. It was as if he feared the moment he left his embrace Silver would disappear into thin air. James shook these thoughts from his mind with surprising ease as he buried his nose in that mess of black curls. He wouldn't allow himself to sully this moment with pointless worry. Instead he would focus on the feeling of Silver lying against him and commit it to memory. The softness of his skin, the warmth that spread through him. And as James eventually drifted into his own slumber, he knew this was be the first time he had slept so soundly since his exile from England.


	2. The Morning After

James awoke to the soft patter of rain beating against the sole windowpane of his bed chamber. The storm outside had been brewing for the better part of the day before, and some time during the night the heavy clouds had finally burst to sate the parched land below. He remembered the sound of rolling thunder, how it coupled so well with the rustling sheets and creaking furniture, with the panted breaths and fervent moans that resonated from bodies starved too long from want. How the movement of their bodies undulating against one another almost seemed to give rise to the very lightning that cracked through the night sky. There was no doubt that Silver's touch sent sparks of lightning coursing through every fiber of his body, from the tip of his toes to the very crown of his head. The man himself was a storm. Wild and strong and unrepentant in his very nature. A tempest brought forth by the sea itself, seeking to beat against his weathered shore until those rocks tumbled free and succumbed to those depths once more. And succumb to those depths he would. Every time those torrid waters rose to lap at his heels he would turn and willingly fall into their embrace. He would revel in the rush of water against his skin as it filled his lungs and became his very breath, enveloping his entire being until the world stood still and quiet, and gave rise to something better.

 _I will be your end._ Ever since Silver spoke those words to him over the gentle crackling of the campfire and the song of crickets, he could not imagine a more fitting end. And so it had come to pass. Now he could only wish that when the time came for him to reach his true end, the end of James Barlow and the last remaining shred of James McGraw, it would still be by that steady hand. And if Silver were to pass before himself, he only hoped that his footsteps would not be far behind.

James took in a deep, steady breath as he stretched back against the mattress. His back arched, toes curling as his shoulders rolled, his jaw flexing in a silent yawn as he reached out blindly to touch the space beside him. To pull close that warm body and bury his nose in those dark curls. Yet when his fingertips were met with nothing but cool, wrinkled sheets, those green eyes cracked open. Despite the dreary weather outside, some of the morning light had managed to escape through the curtain and brighten the room, albeit with a muted glow. The thin cotton sheets had been carelessly tossed aside and lacked any remnants of warmth. James allowed himself a moment before pushing himself up to inspect the room around him. John's clothes -rather, the clothes he had lent him- were missing from the pile that had been scattered across the floor the night before. The iron boot was also gone.

Eyes closed as that same breath now left him, leaving him feeling hollow but for the heavy weight on his chest. Fingers reached up passed his furrowed brow to massage at the growing pain in his temple. Just as his mind began to give way to darker thoughts a loud clatter could be heard from the kitchen, the racket swiftly followed by a yelp and a long string of curses so vile it would have a sent the town's pastor reeling. James attempted to fight the smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. But more than that, he struggled to ignore the great sense of relief that washed over him when he realized that Silver was still here. Both attempts failed miserably.

The floorboards were cool against the pads of James' feet as he slipped from the bed and pulled on a fresh change of clothes. He let the curtains be for now and instead worked to rub the sleep from his eyes as he tread down the short hall. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the way his body ached the morning after. The muscles of his thighs sore from not being used so vehemently in so long. The familiar sting in his jaw. 

When he came into the main room whose corner the kitchen was situated in, he saw him. John was dressed in the clean trousers and white cotton shirt he had given him yesterday. His hair spilled past his shoulders in thick ringlets, parts of it sticking out in disarray from their night spent beneath the sheets. The iron boot thumped lightly against the floorboards as he moved.

"What exactly are you doing to my kitchen?" James dared to ask. His eyes searched briefly for the cause of the racket before settling on one of his heavy iron pots.

John aimed an impish grin in his direction. Meanwhile James' eyes were immediately drawn to the dark marks he had worried into the gentle slope of his neck and the curve of his collarbone. The man must have noticed where his gaze had shifted for that grin only widened.

"I was hungry for some actual food," the man clipped as he turned back to toss some shoddily-chopped potatoes into the pot with a thunk.

"You've only been here a single day," James began with a weak glare, "And not only have you broken through my door, but now you wish to start a fire?"

The man snorted. "I've learned how to cook."

"I highly doubt that."

"I'll have you know I haven't given a single soul food poisoning in over two years now."

James didn't humor the man with a response. Instead he moved up behind him, his hands settling on those still slender hips to guide him flush against his own, and nuzzled against the nape of his neck. A soft gasp left the man's lips when he nipped gently at the base of his hairline. John leaned back into his embrace with a pleased hum reverberating from deep within his chest. He placed a kiss behind his ear, the cool metal of the gold hoop tickling his chin, before reaching out from behind him. He guided John's hands through the motions of properly slicing the spuds into smaller cubes.

"They'll grow tender enough to be made into a stew more quickly this way," James murmured lowly.

He felt the chuckle rise up in the man's throat before it even left his lips. "Aye, captain."

James allowed himself to remain where he was a few moments longer. His eyes slipped shut as he pressed his lips against his neck once more, breathing in the scent of salt and cooled sweat and something that was so entirely _John_. When he eventually pulled away he didn't go far. Instead he placed himself at John's side, tearing up rich green leaves of spinach, splitting some peas, and tossing them into the pot with some herbs while the other man continued to peel and slice potatoes. How he hadn't improved in the simple task over the years was beyond him. But alas.

The two remained locked in a soothing embrace of silence for several minutes. The only sound that existed was the rhythmic tapping of the knife against the tabletop, the crunching and ripping of greens for the stew, and John's gentle humming. It was almost... peaceful. Distinctly different from the heated trysts they had experienced back aboard the ship when James was still known as Flint. Different still from the nearly violent arguments they had often found themselves lost in over one matter or another. Such moments had been few and far between, all those years ago. Usually they could only be found when they had both collapsed against the bedding, their bodies a tangled mess of flushed and sweaty limbs, expressions slack and sated. _Happy._ At least for those few moments they could steal away together, where they wouldn't think about the ship, the crew, the war on their heels. When it was just the two of them and that fragile link that neither dared to give a name to. Yet even now it seemed that it couldn't last.

"I tried finding you sooner, you know," John finally offered, breaking the quiet that had fallen over them for what seemed like an eternity.

At his words the man stilled. Within moments though James recovered, adding a final pinch of salt to the pot before wiping his hands on his trousers and going to kneel down in front of the hearth. He poked at the smoldering log almost listlessly as he thought over his next words. "I told you of my man in Havannah," James finally settled on. "That he would be able to give you what was necessary to find me." Without even turning he could feel the tension that locked in Silver's shoulders, could see the frown that surely pulled at his lips and hardened his countenance.

The sharp rap of the knife against the wooden cutting board slowed, stopped for a few moments, then continued. "That you did," his old quartermaster conceded after a moment. "Unfortunately, you did not take into account how difficult it would be to find _him_." A soft laugh. "After a certain amount of time had passed, I could only wonder if you had changed your mind and instructed this agent of yours to turn and run at first sight of a one-legged man."

James' lips pressed into a thin line, almost a scowl but not quite, as he tossed another log onto the bricks. He remained in stubborn silence as he stoked the flames into a fire strong enough to heat the pot for the stew. Sparks flew up with each jab of the poker until he was satisfied and let it alone. He couldn't help the anger that still boiled within him. Despite John's reasoning, despite his excuses, the fact remained that it had been four years. And even now that he had finally come to him, there was no guaranteeing that he had any plans to stay. This entire quandary was of his own doing, even he was not so dense as to not realize that. He had been the one to wage an unwinnable war against England. To throw oil to the fire, to finally, _finally_ see it victorious, and to then leave his unwitting protege to pick up the pieces and right the wrongs that had been left in its wake. Yet even so he couldn't help his hurt. He had always been a selfish man, in his own ways.

When it became apparent that he was unwilling to offer any form of comment, save for his sour disposition, John continued. "Then when I finally managed to find the bastard and spoke the words you instructed, that 'I come on behalf of Captain Flint', he handed me that _fucking book_. If I hadn't known which passage to seek out first, I would have throttled you for making me read that ridiculously long poem for a second time."

"It's an epic," James nearly barked, if from nothing than old habit. The sly smirk that colored John's expression hinted that he was once more only speaking to get a rise out of him. Unfortunately, it only found the man's attempt to break the tension to be a successful one. With an agitated huff James moved over to grab the pot, now filled, and place it over the fire. "Still a little shit, I see," he mumbled under his breath.

"Still a stubborn old goat," was John's curt reply. Even with his back turned James could hear the smirk in his voice. Then, after a moment and in a much softer tone, "I missed you."

James swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. With a barely audible sigh he made sure the kettle was secure before standing. Even then he didn't face the man, his knuckles instead resting against the brick of the fireplace as he watched the sparks dance. "I missed you as well," he eventually managed. Even after all this time, after everything the two of them had suffered through together, he still found such difficulty in forming those three words. They both did, it seemed. Yet when he turned to gaze at the man he saw it in John's eyes. The tenderness and affection, the understanding and raw desire that could only be associated with love. They had spoken it to one another once or twice before. More than that, if he were being completely honest. Sometimes in the throws of passion or afterwards when they were warm and sated from their intimacy. Sometimes when the two of them simply had a moment to spare in the solitude of the other. Once when they were preparing to walk into that final battle to secure Nassau's future. Once again when he turned from John Silver and walked away. With each utterance it became easier only to fall to something far more difficult once again, and now was no exception. After the years that had passed there was no doubt that those words would need to be spoken with great care and when the time was right.

Silver seemed to hesitate for just a moment before making the decision to draw closer. The iron boot thumped softly against the floorboards and a pent-up breath escaped James' lips as as he pulled the other man into his arms. Fingers curled themselves into those dark locks, gingerly massaging the back of his scalp as that forehead pressed lightly against his own. Their breaths mingled as they each sought to hold each other impossibly close, almost as if by doing so their bodies would melt into one another. John's thumbs grazed over the scruff on his chin before finally closing the gap and allowing their mouths to meld together. The kiss was soft, sweet. Gradual and sensual as they each sought to convey the tender emotions they couldn't form into words. Such was always the nature of their relationship, it seemed.

"I missed you," John repeated against his lips with a voice that was just above a whisper. It was almost desperate, pleading.

James' only reply was to seal their mouths together once more. Carefully he tugged him ever closer by those thick curls, his other hand wandering down his jawline to tilt his chin upwards. When he nipped at his lower lip John opened for him easily, their tongues intertwining in a delicate exchange. Not fighting for dominance as they so often did, but instead merely exploring, tasting, touching. James licked into his mouth, sucking on that plump bottom lip until the man gasped out, opening wider. When they eventually parted they each panted softly in order to regain their breaths. He cradled Silver's face between his palms and simply gazed down upon him then. The man's eyes were shut and those long black lashes brushed against his cheeks, the skin slightly flushed. When those eyes opened the brilliant blue of his irises was enough to make his heart stutter in his chest. The pupils had dilated to a heady black.

" _Please_ ," Silver murmured.

James hummed. The sound was deep and gravely within his chest as he drew a thumb over the man's lower lip. He captured his lips with his own once more before carefully guiding him backwards towards the table. The moment Silver bumped against it he hefted himself up atop the edge with some assistance. Immediately those wandering hands started tugging impatiently at the ties fastening their trousers. James managed to get Silver free from those pesky confines first, nearly tearing the fabric as he forced it below the gentle curve of his hips. The man's length was already partially hard from just the fervent clash of teeth and tongue. Not that he wasn't in an identical state. The moment John was free he pressed himself further between those spread legs, Silver's fingers running through his copper tresses until they had fallen free from its queue. Beneath that eager touch he fought to work his own trousers free.

The moment their cocks slid together they released a broken moan in unison, the sound nearly lost in the other's mouth. Their breaths mingled as their foreheads pressed together, lips touching again and again as they seemed the breathe the very air into the other's lungs. When Silver rolled his hips a soft whine escaped the back of his throat. "James," he moaned. James' jaw locked as he reached down to encircle their erections in his hand, pumping his fist with each rock of the man's hips. Their breaths caught, taking turns between swift inhales and panted sighs as they rutted against one another.

Silver's fingers remained tangled in his hair as the pace of his shallow thrusts quickened. James did his best to stroke in time with the man's heated movements, his fist curling around the base before tightening around the swollen heads, remembering just how his quartermaster liked to be touched. Within moments the man was keening, John's back arching forward as he leaned back against the table with one hand supporting the majority his weight. "Fuck, James," he breathed. "Ahh, _please_..!" His good leg hooked around his waist to pull him ever closer.

James nearly growled as he thrust up against him. A sweat had broken out along his hairline, Silver's fingers dragging through the dampness as he coaxed him closer for another fervent kiss. He moaned into his mouth, biting down hard on his lower lip as they each thrust in time with the other. Yet it wasn't long until any semblance of rhythm had disappeared. Silver gave a final jerk of his hips, a broken moan escaping his throat as he finally came, releasing rope after rope of pearly white against his stomach. James was not far behind. The sensation of the man's cock pulsing and twitching against his own almost too much to bare. The man's name left his lips in an almost reverent gasp as he released over his stomach, adding to the mess.

Shoulders heaved from panted breaths as they each eventually began to come down from their orgasm. Tingling heat coursed through the man in waves, the pleasure warming every inch of him. James allowed his fingers to comb through the dark ringlets of Silver's hair as he brushed a stray lock behind his ear. When the man gazed up at him his eyes were clouded with a blissful haze. The look they exchanged was one of reverence, tenderness, and smoldering desire. Once again their lips met, this time softly. The scruff of Silver's beard and mustache caught against his skin as their mouths so easily slotted together. Their hands wandered with firm yet gentle touches, caught between a press of palms and drag of fingertips.

"There was never anyone else," Silver eventually murmured. His voice was barely above a whisper, his breaths still hitching as he came down. "Was-"

"No," James breathed.

"Do you still-?"

"I never stopped," James assured him softly. The press of his palms tightened slightly from where they cradled the man's jaw. He coaxed his head upwards until their eyes met. "Never," he repeated. The smile that broke out along John's face was one he had surely missed. That warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes and caused James' heart to arrest in his chest. And once again the man found himself committing it to memory. He would never tire of the raise of his lips, the glint in those brilliant blue eyes as they stared at him so openly, so rich and deep with knowledge and understanding. That sea he found himself drowning in again and again. And there they remained for what seemed like an eternity, exchanging gentle caresses and soft kisses.

"I think I smell something burning," Silver eventually offered against his lips.

 _"Fuck,"_ James swore. He tucked himself back into his trousers, turning towards the burning stew with a string of curses, the sound interrupted only by the lilt of John's laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief reference is made to my other fic, Read Between the Lines. More of less Silver and Flint drunkenly aruging about The Odysssey.


	3. Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Meditations_ has three inscriptions. One from Thomas Hamilton, one from Captain Flint, and now one from John Silver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains S4 spoilers.  
> Another reference to my other fic, [ Meditations..](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8389864)

James had always been a man of strict routine. It was but one of the many qualities further ingrained in him during his time in the Royal Navy. Even as a youth he had appreciated the strangely soothing quality of creating a schedule and adhering to it. Yet once he abandoned England for Nassau this became a noted struggle, even more so after his swift rise to captaincy. After all, the life of piracy was not one that permitted order or balance. Day to day, there was so little that existed within the realm of certainty.

However, after a year spent on those unfamiliar shores he had been able to strike up some semblance of routine, no matter how minute. For the most part it was limited to the usual daily tasks that took place aboard any vessel, pirate or otherwise. He would see the men to their duties both above and below deck before verifying the day's course with the sailing master. Then he would sequester himself within the captain's cabin for several hours of solitude, both to pour over various charts and to fine tune the details of the rest of their journey. As for the later evenings, those were spent either in quiet contemplation or with a book spread open across his lap.

As much as he had first longed to return to the cottage he had settled with Miranda on a regular basis, it soon became apparent just how impossible that was. As soon as he had been voted captain he became married to the sea once more. His life, or rather what remained of it, revolved around the _Walrus_  and its crew. His ship, his loyal men. His entire focus was reserved for their next hunt, their next prize, so that he could put food in their bellies and coin in their pockets. And as much as he loved Miranda still, the silence of that cottage haunted him. That hallow emptiness that only reminded him of their mutual loss each second that was spent within it. So he allowed himself to be blinded by his rage towards Alfred Hamilton and all of England, and began his relentless pursuit of a free Nassau.

After several years he had developed a strict method to the way he captained his ship. Routes to their next prizes were carefully planned the moment Eleanor Guthrie provided a lead, as well as an alternate path in case they came across a sudden storm. It was also decided ahead of time where they would make port afterwards to resupply and garner news if necessary. Their time spent in Nassau, the deployment of his agents to the colonies, careening; everything was methodically planned. Eventually plots for the larger picture of a sovereign Nassau finally came into light. They would find the ship with the schedule, capture the famed hulk that was the Urca de Lima, and use the treasure brimming it's hold to secure Nassau's future.

Then he met John Silver. Ever since that lying thief first set foot aboard his ship any sense of order and simplicity that yet remained within his life was torn asunder. Never before had he come across a man that so perfectly personified the winds of change. Not even Thomas. While his first love had certainly given his life newfound purpose and direction, Silver had completely turned it on its head. He had torn from him the fragile remnants of James McGraw that he had all but been convinced no longer existed. And while he would never be that same man again, so too was "Captain Flint" thereby destined to become little more than a memory, a story to eventually be returned to the churning sea.

That bloody war with England may have started with Thomas, may have _raged_ with Miranda, yet with Silver it had finally reached its end. Even if that ending was ultimately not what he had anticipated or desired. Neither the crown nor the pirates sworn to fight against it had come out victorious. Instead Naussa was burned to a smouldering husk at the hands of the Spanish. At the very least a modest portion of those that had made it to the final battle managed to escape it with their lives, even if they were not entirely left unscathed. 

It was after that final battle that the path he and Silver had followed for so long finally diverted. While he had informed his quartermaster of his plan a few days prior to the final battle, that no matter the outcome it was time for "Captain Flint" to come to an end, he truly had no idea just how difficult that would be. To turn his back on John Silver... It was a cruel reality he hadn't allowed much thought until the time finally came. Despite the fact that he had made vast preparations so that Silver could seek him out when that time finally came for him to walk away from his own legend, it provided very little comfort. Time changes far too much, after all.

There was no way of knowing if and when Long John Silver would give up his newfound life of piracy. These men had become his life, their struggles treated the same as if they were his very own. And even if he one day did decide to leave that life behind him, there was no way to be certain if he would seek him out. If that once unshakable grasp they held on the other would persist despite the passage of time, however long it was.

James was quite taken aback by just how quickly he had been able to return to what most considered a normal life. Granted, it was due largely to the fact that he kept himself busy. Having purchased this rickety old cottage from an even older fisherman, there was no shortage of work to be done. The ground was fertile yet unworked, and had been for quite some time based on how it had been overgrown with weeds and dense thickets. Even the home itself required several days of hard labor. The walls on the north side needed to be fixed and reinforced, and the leaking roof completely replaced. Eventually, though, that pitiful shack was transformed into a modest yet comfortable home set beside the sea.

After that his pattern of living fell into place rather quickly. Each morning he awoke to tend to the small cluster of chickens and walk the fence in search of holes in need of repair. The garden would be watered, weeded, and harvested when necessary. Extra vegetables would be jarred and stored, spare meat salted and smoked, and what little he wasn't planning to actually eat would be taken to town for trade. This he did only once or twice a week. On other days he kept preoccupied with laundry or other mundane busywork. When there was finally no more work to be had he settled down with a book, oftentimes one that he had already read several times over, or widdled. If any of his men could see him now, their fearsome captain dressed in a plain cotton shirt and trousers, carving wooden slabs and spending the afternoon nose-deep in a book, they would balk at the absurdity of it. But not Silver. He would just smile that mischievous grin and make some clever joke at his expense, and that's exactly what he did.

In retrospect, James shouldn't have been at all surprised by just how suddenly Silver had reappeared into his life. After all, that's just how the man was. It always had been, at least for as long as he had known him. Whether it was leaping from the railing of the Walrus, igniting the fuse to fire that first shot against the Spanish Man O' War, or miraculously returning from the dead, John Silver acted with the brashness and unpredictability of an ocean storm or not at all. And just as before, James' calm and practiced way of life went crashing to the wayside from the force of those strong winds.

The moment he saw Silver standing in his home everything else was forgotten, at least for a time. Instead of the usual chores, the rest of the afternoon was spent encompassed in that familiar company, sharing words and stories over scraps of food and bottles of rum. And when the sun eventually disappeared beneath the horizon, they retired to bed without so much as a second thought, just as they had done so many times before. The next few days followed a similar path, though each was distinctly different in its own way.

When James eventually returned to town Silver was adamant about accompanying him. At first he wasn't certain that would be a wise decision. This town was roughly the same size as Nassau had been in it's prime, yet even so, a one-legged man was hard to not take notice of, and even harder to forget. Silver had made a name for himself, and if by chance someone recognized his features from some wanted poster, trouble would be sure to follow. Not just for Silver, but for himself as well. Yet just as he had always done, Silver waved off his concerns with the ease only his clever smirk and cavalier attitude permitted.

While the sun hung high in the sky, scorching the small coastal town in its summer heat, Silver was right by his side. The moment they reached the town's outskirts Silver leaned down over his crutch and took on the persona of a poor, down-on-his-luck invalid. A character, he assured him, that would arouse far less suspicion. After all, no one ever took notice of a struggling cripple. It seemed he had left the iron boot back at the cottage for this very reason. Without it, his clumsy hobbling seemed much more convincing. Still, James could only roll his eyes. John Silver had changed in many ways since their first meeting, but one thing still held true: The man was an expert at deception. Not only could he spin elaborate stories with that silver tongue of his, but he played out his performances with the rest of his body as well. And just in case anyone inquired about him, Silver would explain that he was James' wife's sister's cousin twice-removed, an old salt by the name of Solomon Little.

Almost immediately James could feel the return of his migraine.

The two of them wove through the square just as the town was waking up and the shopkeepers were setting out their wares. Silver insisted on paying for the supplies himself, which James allowed without argument. After all, he was the one who broke through his door in the first place. For the most part Silver gratefully kept his head down and his mouth shut, at least until a young whelp noticed his injured leg. He oohed and awed in that dense manner children often did and begged to hear the tale behind it. The moment that smirk spread across Silver's face, a pit formed deep within James' stomach. Sure enough, the feeling proved warranted as the man bent down and told the short story of how a monster had stolen his leg after he lied to his mother about eating his vegetables. The lad scurried back to his mother with tears streaming from his eyes, who in turn gave them quite the stern glare. Quickly he ushered Silver along before he could cause any more trouble. Fortunately, the rest of the trip passed without further incident, as did the next few days.

After the lock was repaired, Silver would occasionally assist him around the house or out in the garden. Either watering some of the sun-scorched plants or tending to the chickens, though that proved to be a difficult task as the pesky creatures insisted on pecking at his false leg. Most of the time, however, Silver sat off to the side while James worked, guarded by the shade of the back porch or a tall tree, and talked. He regained about his time at sea, the many stories he had heard, and even the ones he had partially fashioned himself. Though James may have offered an occasional scoff or roll of his eyes, he found that he didn't mind the constant prattle. He had _missed_ Silver. The sound of his voice, the lilt of his laugh, the touch of his skin. Everything. Part of him could only wonder if this was nothing but a dream, a far reach of his imagination fabricated by the hallow ache within his chest. One from which he would eventually wake. Yet with each night he fell asleep with Silver within arm's reach, he awoke the following morning the exact same way. This particular morning was no exception.

When James finally stirred, he did so slowly. His body still ached in ways that it hadn't in quite some time. It was not bothersome, such as the sharp pains that resulted from repairing the old house or rigorously working the land for too long of an afternoon. No, not at all. Instead it was a warm and pleasant ache, one that made him feel sated, safe. One that only further solidified the fragile dream that Silver was, in fact, here. That this was real. Based on the warm sunlight that now filtered in through the curtained window, it was an hour or two past dawn. Once again he had overslept. It was almost as if Silver's presence had caused him to become complacent. Then again, was reveling in such a long-desired reprieve truly such a terrible thing?

James blinked slowly before reaching up to rub the evidence of sleep from his eyes. A soft sigh passed his lips as he stretched back against the bedding. It wasn't until then that he took notice of the heavy weight settled between his legs. With a downward glance he caught sight of that unmistakable mess of black curls that proved responsible. John's head was resting against his lower abdomen just above the cut of his pelvic bone. Those arms, tanned and laden with various designs forever immortalized in ink, lay slack beneath his thighs. Both of their forms were still completely bare from the night before, the only exception being the thin cotton sheet currently tangled around Silver's waist. In truth it was a rather amusing sight: The notorious and fearsome pirate, Long John Silver, passed out between his lover's legs.

James allowed himself a few moments to watch the steady rise and fall of Silver's back as he slept before remembering that he needed to get up. With the heel of his hand he nudged against that unruly mop of a head. "Off," he ordered, his tone still slightly gruff from sleep.

A low growl escaped the back of the man's throat as he stirred from his sudden prodding. However, instead of moving off of him like he had hoped, Silver merely sought to get more comfortable. His back arched upward, not unlike a cat stretching in the afternoon sun, before curling forward once more. His beard scratched against his groin as he nuzzled against his inner thigh. All the while those eyes never opened, nor did Silver offer any other hint that he would be rising anytime soon. James released a long and even breath before trying once more. "Silver, get off." The only response he got this time was a string of unintelligible mumbles. James did what he could to ignore the way those lips tickled against his inner thigh. The gentle huffs of breath warmed the sensitive skin in a way that made him break out in goose flesh. The next time he pushed at the top of Silver's head he did so with a newfound resolve. The longer that beard scraped so wonderfully against his cock, the more likely the start of his day would be even further delayed. Silver had distracted him enough this past week as it was. Finally, though, his insistent prodding had its desired effect and those blue eyes finally cracked open to peer up at him.

"What?" Silver all but groaned. He had only raised his head far enough necessary to rake the hair from his face.

James scowled. "You may be perfectly content in lying about all day, but I am not."

A wicked smirk teased at the edge of Silver's mouth. "And here I thought you'd be tired from last night," he all but purred. James wasn't given enough time to respond before Silver placed a wet kiss against his thigh. Immediately his body jerked up beneath that touch.

"John." This time his tone was one of warning.

Something in Silver's expression faltered slightly. The change lasted but a moment and conveyed an emotion James couldn't quite place. "Please," Silver murmured beneath his breath. He was gazing up at him once more, his eyes crystal clear yet feeling far away at the same time. "I don't want this day to begin just yet." As he spoke his calloused fingertips pressed against the muscle of his thigh. Gentle, pleading. "Just a little while longer..."

James exhaled through his nose before offering a nod. This was... different. Silver had only acted like this once or twice before. Back when he was still a captain and Silver his quartermaster, back when the war was just beginning and his leg still pained him. This brief vulnerability that only he and a select few others had ever been privy to. A side of him that, when revealed, could compel even the most hardened men to bend to their knees. Slowly he combed his fingers through those dark locks, careful not to accidentally tug as he massaged the scalp near the base of his neck. Silver visibly relaxed beneath that touch. Fortunately, he also had the good graces to shift upwards on the bedding so that his head now rested against his stomach. Green eyes closed as James allowed himself to focus on the comforting weight lying against him, the soft hair against his fingers. Before long those sensations gave way to darkness as he had drifted back to sleep.

When James awoke next he was alone. He blinked, glancing over to the window to see just how much the sun had risen. It was still early in the morning, yes, but now he truly had overslept. His body groaned in silent protest as he climbed out of bed and tugged his clothes over his tired form. When he wandered into the small kitchen he saw a single plate of food waiting for him atop the table. Cheese, some of the chicken Silver had taken a hand in plucking and cooking the day before, albeit under close supervision, and an apple. Other than that, there were no sign of the man to be found. His peg leg was gone, but at the very least the crutch and coat that resided near the door proved that he was still lurking nearby. Before, he would've been alight with something akin to worry. What if he had gone into town alone? What if one of the guards recognized him? What if he was hurt, what if he was causing trouble? What if he had simply decided to leave his belongings behind and return to the sea? What if, what if, _what if?_  Yet after a few days he had grown more accustomed to Silver's disappearances. The man could never stay still for too long, even now. And always he was never far away.

James picked up the plate before heading out onto the back porch. Sure enough, there Silver was. He neglected the use of a proper chair and instead sat against the wooden boards, his legs hanging over the edge so that his bare foot could touch the grassy bed below. His arms were crooked, his hands resting in his lap, and his gaze trained out towards the ocean. While his hair was pulled back, it was still rather unkempt.  
  
"You should have woken me," James pointed out as he joined alongside him. The plate was set down between them before he picked up the apple to turn it lazily in his hands.  
  
Silver chuckled lightly. "You only slept for another hour."

"There's a lot of work to be done."  
  
"You always say that," Silver reminded him. "You never rest."

"Despite your best efforts."  
  
Silver hummed, his lips finally curving into something that resembled a smile. "Eat," he finally said with a gesture towards the plate. "Despite your new sedentary lifestyle, Captain, you're still quite thin."

James grumbled but didn't argue further. The moment he bit into the apple a rush of sweetness filled his mouth. Silver seemed to have a knack for knowing which fruits were the ripest, despite his protests that he had never worked the land before. Usually fruit ready to be picked and eaten were dark and rich in color, symmetrical. This one was a pale red with splotches of yellow, oddly shaped, and bruised in spots. Any other man likely would have tossed it aside. Hell, even he would have gathered it was no good and fed it to one of the horses during his next trip into town. Yet despite its unusual outward appearance, it was delicious. Perhaps it just went hand in hand with the rest of his intuition. His ability to see things not as they appeared, but as they were. The man watched him for a few moments before picking off a small chunk of meat and popping it into his own mouth. The two spent the next few minutes eating in quiet silence before finally beginning the day properly.

James had decided a week or so ago to further expand his garden to accommodate another cluster of fruits or vegetables. Perhaps an avocado or a fig tree. Yet due to the obvious distraction brought about by Silver's sudden appearance, he had yet to be able to start clearing the land. Today, however, would be different. Clouds were again gathering at the edge of the horizon, dark with the promise of more rainfall, and the air was pleasantly cool for this time of year. He wanted to take advantage of the reprieve from the summer's sweltering heat for as long as he could. To his great surprise Silver joined right alongside him, and with a shovel in hand, no less. His hair was promptly tied in a knot at the base of his neck and his sleeves were pushed up above his elbows. Despite the amputated leg, he managed shoveling the undisturbed earth without too much trouble, at least for a time. All the while Silver was unusually silent, seemingly engrossed in the task at hand. Yet each time James' gaze flitted away from his own spot at the opposite end of the plot, Silver's stare was once again lost out over the sea.

Within a few hours James decided that Silver had had enough for the day. A sweat had broken out across his forehead and the back of his shirt was drenched. Despite the stern expression that masked his face, he knew him well enough to sense the discomfort and pain that existed underneath. And so with a gruff commanding tone, one that mirrored his back when he acted as captain, he told him to take a rest beneath the shade of a nearby tree. Silver huffed and wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, but otherwise did as he was told. But still he was quiet.

"What do you want for dinner?" James wandered after several minutes. A notable tension had been slowly building in that silence all afternoon, and he finally sought to break it before it became stifling. When the man didn't answer he slowed his shoveling before glancing over in his direction. This time Silver's gaze was not lost on the cresting waves of the ocean, but instead he was staring down at his own hands. James fought against the lump that quickly formed low in his throat.

"You're leaving," he stated after a few moments. The realization came to him suddenly and with the force of a punch to the gut. While the thought had occurred to him early this morning, he had done all he possibly could to quell it at the back of his mind. Yet it made sense. Silver wishing to remain in bed a while longer, fixing him breakfast, simple though it was... Actually taking it upon himself to assist with the more grueling work instead of avoiding it, just as he would have done back when they first met.

_Please... I don't want this day to begin just yet._

The silence that followed was all the confirmation that was necessary. With a sigh James gave the shovel a final hard shove into the dirt before leaning against it. Suddenly the sun overhead felt far too hot and the wooden shaft of the shovel bit into his palms. With a steady breath he closed his eyes. It felt as though the world was spinning around him.

* * *

James stood quietly, the only sound coming from the dull thunk of his knife as he listlessly chopped vegetables he had gathered from the garden. The doors and windows had been left open to welcome in the fresh air and cool breeze brought ahead of the approaching storm. Once again Silver was outside on the back porch, this time washing away the dirt, grime, and sweat that had collected over the course of the past several days. Over the past hour or so they had hardly exchanged two words to each other. Not that Silver hadn't tried, but each attempt was met with stuttering failure. It was always unusual when _John Silver_ , of all people, found himself at a loss for words.

He wasn't angry. Despite the torrent of emotions currently coursing through him, James would not name any of them as indignation. Not towards Silver nor his decision. After all, this was what he had expected since the very beginning. He knew from the start that this was a temporary arrangement, a fleeting reprieve at best. Silver had only ever wanted his freedom, and at this point in time that desire was provided by the open seas. He knew that. He knew that he would not be satisfied settling down to a quiet life in a small cottage. After all, it had taken James several grueling years of piracy, war, and bloodshed for him to crave this sort of peace and quiet. To step away from that life of adventure. Silver... he was not yet of that mind. Maybe he never would be. He knew that. He knew that...

_Just a little while longer.._

When James stepped outside, Silver had finished washing and was now simply relaxing in the tub. His head was tilted back, eyes shut and expression calm as he all but sank back beneath the water. At the sound of his approaching footsteps those eyes opened to peer up at him. His face was colored with that same unreadable expression he had worn this morning when they were still lying together in bed. There was no anger there, no anxiety or hurt; he just seemed lost.

"When?" James finally asked as he leaned back against the door frame.

"Tonight."

Immediately he could feel himself bristle at that answer. With his next words he fought vainly to keep his tone in check, only now becoming aware of those wilder emotions boiling beneath the surface. "When were you planning on telling me?" 

Silver's gaze slid down towards the water. That hand that rested over the edge of the tub provided an unobstructed view as he began to fidget with one of the many rings on his fingers. "...Tonight."

James' eyes closed briefly. He was just turning to go back inside when Silver reached out and caught his wrist. "James," he spoke firmly.

That tone alone was enough to give James pause. Yet even if it wasn't, that hardened grip likely wouldn't have allowed him to go much farther. When he looked back the man's eyes were pleading. James stilled, relaxing beneath his hold before shifting closer and finally moving to sit back against the side of the wooden tub. While Silver had released him the moment it became clear he would stay, his touch lingered.

"This is just something I have to do," Silver explained softly. He gripped his upper arm as he spoke, that press of fingers just as pleading as his words.

Almost instinctively he reached up to cover Silver's hand with his own. The skin was damp, the chilled water from the bath soaking into the fabric of his shirt, yet he didn't mind. Silver's hand could be enveloped in fire, and still he would only revel in the soft touch that existed beneath those burning flames.

"You'll come back." James had meant for it to be a question, yet the moment those words left his tongue they became a statement. Perhaps even prayer, one for the only future he could find bearable in this moment. And just as the fervent whispers of _I missed you_ , so too were these words but a thinly veiled replacement for the ones he truly wished to speak.

James could feel the grip on his shoulder tighten before Silver even spoke. "I'll come back," he promised. The gravity that existed behind those words could only make him wonder if he too meant something else.

Silver remained in the bath for a little while longer. When he had finally had enough he stood from the water with the aid of his crutch and stepped into the sun-warmed linens held out for him. Normally Silver would balk at the very idea of allowing his old captain to help him with something as simple and mundane as this, but not now. Now he simply stood and watched as James carefully wrung the excess water from his hair before drying the rest of his dripping form. A smirk teased at the edge of Silver's mouth with each tilt of James' chin, each gentle nudge of his hand, silently telling him to lift his arm or turn his back. He seemed to sense that this was something James surely needed right now, and for that he was grateful.

Only when Silver was properly dry did James dare to meet his gaze. Those blue eyes were wide and unguarded, their depths wilder than that of the oceans, and _god_ did they burn him. When their lips touched again there was no softness left there. Instead their mouths came together with the brute force of waves crashing against the coast. While Silver leaned against his crutch, the majority of his weight was supported by James' chest as he pressed up against him. His beard and mustache caught against his own as their lips slotted so perfectly together. James reveled in the way that velvet tongue pressed into his mouth, soft and searching and so full of  _want._ The dull curve of his fingernails scraped against his scalp, the sting of it sending a line of fire straight to his cock. Soon those fingers entangled themselves in his copper locks before pulling him closer until there was barely a breadth of space between them.

When they eventually parted it was clear that neither wished to stay that way for long. The moment James felt the stuffed hay of the mattress press against his back, it was washed away by the promising weight of Silver crawling over him. The man straddled his waist, his hands cradling his face almost desperately as he tilted his head upwards for yet another kiss. The press of his lips, the damp heat of his tongue as it traced against his lower lip in search of more, the scratch of his fingernails... James gave into it all so easily. His eyes slipped shut as his own hands moved to grasp at that slender waist, holding both of them steady as Silver moved above him. Eventually that mouth left his own to instead lead a trail of open-mouthed kisses down James' jaw, kissing and sucking from the curve of his neck to the slope of his shoulder. Silver's breath was warm and damp as it huffed out against his skin, sharp teeth nipping at his collarbone as fingers tugged impatiently at his clothing.

"James," he murmured against his skin. _"James."  
_

James did what he could to aid Silver's desperate search for skin. Arms lifted above his head to shrug off the tunic as Silver's fingers undid the fastenings of his trousers and bunched them down below his hips. When Silver ground down against him he did so with purpose, his hand encircling their hardened cocks as a broken moan passed both of their lips. James reached blindly for the slick, his free hand entangling itself in those dark curls as he wet three of his fingers. Despite the way the man moved against him almost desperately, his eyes blown black with lust, James wished to take his time. He traced his thumb down the notches of his spine before finally allowing his fingers to delve between the cleft of his ass. The moment those fingers pressed against his entrance Silver all but bucked above him.

"Please," Silver breathed. He rocked his hips backward, pressing against those fingers in an effort to urge them deeper.

With a faint smile James complied and slowly pressed two slicked fingers in to the second knuckle. Silver's lips parted wordlessly, eyelids fluttering shut as his fingernails bit down hard into his chest. When he curled over him, James took advantage of the opportunity to latch onto his throat. He sucked hard at the skin, reveling at the faint taste of soap that lingered, the way that pulse thrummed beneath the flat of his tongue with the force of a war drum. James pushed deeper before withdrawing, his fingertips just catching at the edge of his rim before delving deep once more. The sounds this elicited were more intoxicating than the grandest symphonies he had heard back in London. Each sigh and every hearty moan sent his heart stuttering and surging within his chest like an ocean swell.

Just as Silver began to grow restless above him James withdrew his fingers to instead prepare his own length. He was was hard and aching, but Silver looked positively undone in the way that only he could. Hair undone and tossed over his shoulder, lips red and swollen from biting, those eyes large and black beneath a thin sliver of crystalline blue. And then those eyes were squeezing shut once more, that bottom lip taken between his teeth as he sank down over him. James' own breath hitched as that velvet heat gripped him like a vice, moving down, down, until the entirety of Silver's weight rested against his thighs. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his fingernails dinging into his hip as he watched Silver's face with such reverence. Seeing that moment when that initial hint of pain transformed to nothing but pleasure and heat and desire... Fuck. James had to clench his jaw to keep from shoving up into that delicious heat. Somehow he managed, and when Silver had adjusted to his length he gave an experimental rock of his hips.

Silver hummed, a soft sigh passing his lips as he leaned forward against his palms that were still pressed to James' chest. When he gave another slow rock of his hips, James met him halfway. He thrust up into him, his hand curling around the base of Silver's neck so that he could pull him down further to capture those lips once more. The two moved in tandem with the other, their lips never parting for more than a few seconds before crashing together again and again. It was desperate, searching; their kiss willing those dangerous three words to be conveyed again and again without actually having to give them voice. The press of their lips, the clutch of their hands, the intertwining of their fingers... They all said the same thing: _I love you._

* * *

 

Silver bent over the edge of a chair as he rolled up the leg of his trousers to slide the stump back into the iron boot. Once more he was dressed, this time in his own clothing that had been washed and laid out in the sun to dry several days prior. His hair had been somewhat combed through with his fingers, and what wasn't tied up in his usual half-ponytail cascaded down his shoulders. James' feet padded softly against the floor as he moved across the room. In his hand he held a single cup of lemon tea for himself. While he had extended Silver the offer he had refused, stating that he needed to reach the ship and set sail before they were overrun by the storm lurking on the horizon. So instead he carried  _Meditations_  in his free hand.  
  
"Don't forget this," James murmured with a light tap of the book against his shoulder.  
  
Silver smirked over at him. However, it failed to reach his eyes. "Hang onto it for me," he requested. "Think it'd be safer with you. Don't want to damage it more than I already have."  
  
James paused briefly before offering a minute nod. His fingertips lingered on the binding of the red leather as he placed it back against the table. Silver wasn't asking him to keep it here for that reason. Rather, he was keenly aware that should something happen to _him_ , that book would be lost forever. He was well aware of the importance it held, not just to him, but to Thomas and Miranda as well. It was something James had always carried with him, if not physically then at least at the edge of his mind. He tried not to think on the reality of what Silver was so subtly alluding to. He knew the dangers of piracy better than anyone; the fact that he still yet lived was nothing other than dumb luck. That, and Silver's woven story of how he had long since perished in Havannah. The man had unwittingly removed him from the crossfire, yet it was that exact path that Silver still walked.

"I'll come back." The sound of Silver's voice brought him back from his thoughts with the same ease it always had. When he turned the man was standing, his crutch tucked beneath his arm and a calming expression on his features. "I promise," he continued. With a small step forward he placed a chaste kiss against his lips. James' hand raised to cradle the edge of his jaw, their lips parting just enough to taste the other on their tongue.

"When can I expect you?" he eventually wondered after they had parted.

Silver hummed softly as he thought. "Hopefully within a few months..." he offered gently, considering. "Certainly before the year is out. Even if that means I have to board a skiff and row across the ocean myself."

"You'll be..."  
  
"What, careful?" Silver asked. Green eyes flicked upwards to see that usual smirk tugging at Silver's lips, the one that made his eyes shine. Playfully he reached out to give that short copper beard a slight tug. "Oh captain, when am I ever not?"

James felt far from convinced. And yet the hand that lingered against his cheek was enough to ease his mind, at least for now. That was what he focused on as he watched Silver's departure down the sloping path of the bluff. He focused on the warmth that had radiated from his skin, the strength lent by that unwavering touch. It was what he thought of later that night as he prepared himself a small dinner of bread and cheese, hours after that curly mop of hair had finally disappeared around the bend and from his line of sight. Later still when he sat alone at his table, _Meditations_ spread open before him as he read by candlelight. Fingers ghosted over the inscription Thomas had left him across the paper. Curiously, he flipped to the back of the book to reread his own note that he had left to Silver when he gave him the book. The signature, _James Flint,_ seemed almost foreign to him now. However, it was not alone. A small message had been written beside it, the unruly penmanship obviously belonging to Silver. Despite the clumsily written script, he read it easily.:

 _Like a ship returns to its harbor,_  
_I will always come home to you._  
  
_-John Silver_


End file.
